


Reprisal of Pride

by Lance_Otter



Category: Persona 5
Genre: AU - Persona Users can develop Palaces, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty Protag Boi, Dependency Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lance_Otter/pseuds/Lance_Otter
Summary: It starts with a text message and the collective realisation that perhaps all is not right with the world.





	1. we're sinking without an ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grand_mephy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grand_mephy/gifts).



> so, my first piece on this site and it's angst, not surprising at all. I've been mulling over this idea for a while and I wanted to share with you all! Hope you enjoy.

 

* * *

  **Ryuji** : _[U free to hang today? Need 2 go to the arcade or my brains gonna burst]_

 Ryuji's finger hovers over the send button, glancing once at the time- it's 11 am on a Sunday, he'll be up, right?- before he inhales and presses down. They haven't had plans. Not for a while, and it's really getting on his nerves. He has to do something, right? Akira's always down for anything. Vaguely, he thinks back to Nakaoka. Running. He lives for being a Phantom Thief. He's always lived for this thrill, the rush of energy from seeing the onslaught of lightning from Kidd, the fading shadows, the treasure, each and every time. And yeah; he's doing it for the good of the people, so the under dogs can feel free, but- it's hard to deny that he loves the attention, too.

It's hard to believe it's only been two days since Okumura kicked the bucket. He doesn't really know if he feels sorry for him or not. He definitely pities Haru.

Two minutes pass. He's usually responded by now. Maybe he's studying. Hell. Ryuji doesn't actually remember if he's ever come any less than the top ten in the exams. Feels like he's always been at the very top, like he's just worked himself into the small circle of being a near flawless human being. If it were literally anyone else, he'd be kicking- punching them in the face. Finally, a message comes through. Finally, he thinks before realising that it's Yusuke, of all people.

**Yusuke** : _[We have a problem.]_

* * *

 

Yusuke had heard about the situation from Makoto. She'd typed the message notoriously quickly, a simple, albeit panicked, _[We need you at Leblanc as soon as possible. Something's come up with Akira.]_

He wasn't initially worried, to begin with. Akira was intelligent, enough to elude the riskier aspects of his life. Save for the incident two days prior, he'd seemed almost uncannily lucky. However, as he pondered over the change he'd need for the train headed to Yongenjaya, he came to the conclusion that he'd had similar assumptions of Makoto herself. They clicked well. Bright people, contrasted by fate and lives decided, but rebelled against. And he knew that they were rational. T'was rare to hear about Akira under duress whatsoever. He was physically capable. Emotionally steadfast. Stoic. Gradually, concern began to sink in.

 Paranoia, as had plagued him so many nights before with regards to artworks and payments. A slow realisation, he concluded, that something was beginning to happen.

That something had shifted in the grand scheme of the world. Yusuke sighed. He prayed for the train to arrive quickly.

 

* * *

 

**Futaba** : _[Akira's got a Palace.]_

Makoto chokes on her water. She carefully places the glass down and moves her sisters laptop out of the immediate vicinity before re-reading her phone to make sure she didn't just read that.

She did.

**Makoto:** _[Futaba, this is a really bad time for a joke like that.]_

 Because really, how wasn't it? They'd had too many problems with Palaces for Akira, their trustworthy leader, to have one. Palaces belonged to the selfish and the cruel; people like Kaneshiro and Okumura. Futaba had been an exception. The exception- someone who had the world turned against them.

(But then again, doesn't that sound like him?)

**Futaba:** _[ -.- ]_

**Futaba:** _[Not a joke. I already put it in the Nav.]_

She mulls it over. Her thoughts drift to criminal records. To the perceptions of justice and law and an innocent in a world where the legal system isn't for their safety, merely for their control. Something uncomfortable about how people who saw students as little more than objects, children as nothing more than tools and money as a means to an end; those who they've fought and won against in the past. Worst of all, the apathy. Selective ignorance and a refusal to notice? Or an inability to notice?

**Makoto** : _[Let's meet at Shujin. I'll be there in ten minutes.]_

 

* * *

 

She's in line at the cake shop when her phone begins to ring. A simple tune in the side of her pocket, quickly escalating into irritated gazes from the customers around her. Her lips twist into a grimace, an awkward unspoken apology before she flicks a finger to shift it to vibrate. It doesn't stop; if anything, it continues to vibrate madly, signalling message after message after message. The man in front shifts uneasily from one foot to the other. Finally, it vibrates a- (tenth time? eleventh?) and she sighs before clicking open to see the screen filled.

**Ryuji** : [  _Ann_ ]

**Ryuji** : [  _ann_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _blondie_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _Ann_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _annnnnn_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _annnnnnnnnnnn_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _we need u at Shujin_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _as in_ ]

**Ryuji:**  [ _RN_ ]

And before she even says what she wants to order, she's running.

 

* * *

 

And ultimately, Haru isn't surprised that she's the last to know. It's not out of malicious intent; of course not. If anything, she's somewhat stunned that they told her at all. With the level of trust that fluctuates between their members (Morgana springs first to mind, along with the entirety of the 'Beauty Thief' incident...) it's strange to say, but she feels proud, almost. Glad to have them at her side and back in what feels like an unending war.

 "Yes, Takashi-san, I'd be honoured to-" the door to Shujin's rooftop swings open to expose several colours; the red, black, white of the school uniform, Futaba's jacket, dark blue hair, two shades of blonde and Makoto's worried eyes. Haru drags a hand over the receiver of the phone, concerned at the sudden shouts that permeate the garden, words such as 'palace', 'leader' and 'Kurusu'.

"Is something wrong? What's all that noise?" Reverbs from the phone. And the panic in her friends- (are they friends?) eyes is enough to make her hang up without missing a beat.

* * *

 

 For them all, it sinks slow, like a light stone falling to the bottom of the ocean, delayed by water pressure and ignorance.

 


	2. i'll hold you underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message. An argument. And always a choice to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive thanks to Grand_Mephy for beta and continued support ily my friend.
> 
> hope you all enjoy the feels aaaaa

Surrounded by the green leaves of reddening tomatoes and a dying afternoon light, the Phantom Thieves, a forever misshapen and misplaced group, move to their positions. Ryuji on the milk crate to lift his damaged leg, Morgana taking the rest of the space; Ann stretching against the wall with Makoto watching over her arm; Yusuke cross-legged beneath the overhang of the storage space rooftop; and Futaba crouching in the sunlight next to the garden bed.

Not entirely certain of the circumstances, Haru stands to the side, placing the watering can on the ground.

“Um… Mako-chan, what’s going on…?”

Makoto sighs. The same tired exhale of breath she’d had when it was revealed that all their actions to save Kunikazu Okumura were for naught. A single movement withdraws a black, sleek phone from the depths of her pocket, smoothly cut nails tapping it on to expose the red eye of the Meta-Nav.

“Futaba was going through potential targets in the Meta-Nav. We were hoping to find people in Mementos, but…”

“If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have said anything, alright? I already said I’m sorry so just- knock it off,” Futaba mumbles under her breath. She doesn’t meet their collective stares. A headache starts forming under Makoto’s brow.

Plastic peels as Yusuke tugs off the cover of trademark Jagariko, unsure. Knuckles drum on a crate, impatient. It’ll be dark soon.

Growling, Ryuji glides to his feet with a wince and a, “You ain’t fucking kidding, right? This isn’t a joke and he’s just right around the corner waiting to laugh at us?”

“Akira’s not the type of person who would do that-!” Ann’s voice is elegantly, sharply cut off through a tilted gaze-

“Nor is he the type of person to have a Palace, either,” Yusuke retorts.

“Futaba had a Palace, and she’s not a bad person.” Makoto’s response is enough to bring about temporary silence. As their impromptu leader, she faces their guide into the Phantom Thieves. “Morgana, I thought you said Persona-users couldn’t have a Palace or a Shadow. Is this normal?”

Licking his paw clean, Morgana’s ears droop. “It’s never happened before… people who can use a Persona are meant to be strong enough that it doesn’t happen to them.”

Nobody knows how to respond to that.

Morgana sighs. “By being able to use a Persona, it means that you’re able to shape your own cognitive self- through the outfits you wear in the Metaverse, the abilities you can use, the Persona you have. And by being able to manipulate your cognitive self, you become your own variant of a Trickster or a rebellious figure. That’s how a Persona comes about- the strength of the heart and the cognition of what it’d look like in reality.”

“Akira can use multiple Personas. Is that because of his ‘strength of heart’, or whatever?” Makoto asks.

Morgana flinches, his ears pulling back. “I-I don’t know.”

“It doesn't matter _how_ ,"Makoto begins. “What matters is that this problem needs to be nipped in the bud before something bad comes of it.”

Haru agrees with a definitive nod. She turns to look at the far side of the rooftop, where blank, bespectacled eyes overlook the courtyard. “Futaba?”

“Why do you think he didn't tell us?”

It sinks over them like the chill of rain in the early morning. Makoto opens her mouth; a sharp inhale follows. No response. Orange hair swishes back as Futaba appraises their faces, searching for a hint that someone knows what’s going on and why their world has turned like this.

“...We should try to find keywords if we haven’t already,” Yusuke finally says, neutral per usual.

“Bullshit-! We need to get to the bottom of this!” Ryuji shouts back. He’s never been willing to ignore the metaphorical elephant in the room. Not when it concerns him. Not when it concerns them all. “You’re just going to ignore the problem?!”

“The sooner we get into his Palace, the sooner we can help him-” Makoto tries. Thoughts of Okumura’s bloodied mouth fill her mind. She shivers. “We have to help him. If that means stealing his heart, so be it.”

Morgana’s eyes cross each of the members. “We agreed that it'd be unanimous.”

It's enough to silence the rest of the complaints.

* * *

 

Standing off to the side in an alleyway, Makoto tilts her head out from behind the wall. She watches Akira Kurusu step from the doorframe, flick the sign to ‘Open for Business’ before glancing down at his phone.

A few seconds pass before their phones go off- three on silent, three that are distinctly _not._ Yusuke flashes the guilty with a stern look as they fumble to switch it to vibrate.

**Akira:** [ _Are we heading to Mementos today?_ ]

Ann shakes her head.

**Ryuji:** [ _Nah, we’re busy 2 day_ ]

A quiet falls over them. Remorse flickers through as, from behind the safety of the wall, Akira’s face creases with the beginnings of worry.

**Akira:** [ _??? Where's everyone meeting?_ ]

**Yusuke:** [ _False alarm. Ryuji thought he left his pants inside your bedroom._ ]

**Ryuji:** [ _wait wtf no i didnt_ ]

**Yusuke:** [ _No, you managed to retrieve them, a fact which we are all grateful for._ ]

**Akira:** [ _Oh._ ]

**Akira:** [ _Is everyone busy today?_ ]

Futaba stares at the ground, matching the stiffness in Makoto’s limbs and the cracking of Ryuji’s shoulder. She shoots her team a glance. “Are we…. are we really going to do this?” she whispers.

Ann finally responds. “We don't have a choice.”

She swallows and types out a reply.

**Futaba:** [ _yeah. sorry_ ]

They watch him breathe in, and twist on his heels. Uncertainty hides behind the black frames of his downward stare as strides down the street, no apparent goal in mind save for getting away. As he leaves, discomfort similarly vanishes, replaced with shared concern.

Morgana begins. “We know it’s Le’Blanc. We know our Target is Akira Kurusu. We just need to figure out _what_ this place is to him.” He nods as Yusuke opens the Meta-Nav. “Any ideas?”

“Let’s start simple- prison,” Futaba says. No response. “Uh- school?” No response. “How about home.” No response. “O-kay, um…”

“Hell,” Haru suggests. No response from the Nav.

“Heaven?” Yusuke says. No response either.

Before Morgana can interject, Ryuji’s eye twitches. “This is taking too long! Isn’t there a faster way we can do this?” His hand reaches for his own phone, flicking it open at a pace that nearly sends it flying to the ground. He rattles out a message before anyone can stop him.

**Ryuji** : [ _oi, you doing okay?_ ]

**Ryuji** : [ _like, you got any issues or something_ ]

**Akira:** [ _im drowning_ ]

“Ryuji!” Ann yells out somewhere to his left.

**Akira** : [ _Drowning in homework, more like, aha_ ]

**Akira** : [ _Kawakami is meant to be taking it easy on me : < _]

**Ryuji:** [ _that’s not what i meant_ ]

Before he can type out another message, long fingers snatch his phone. Yusuke looms over him with a ‘what the actual hell are you doing, you moron’ look in his eyes. ‘I’m trying to help’ Ryuji mouths in response, but the artist’s height and ridiculously long limbs easily hold it above his head.

The phone vibrates again. Makoto shakes her head.

“Not the time, Ryuj,” she says. “We’re trying to keep it hidden from him.”

“But-” Before he can interject, he’s cut off again.

“Hang on.” Morgana leaps to Yusuke’s shoulder, looking over the messages. “I think you might actually be onto something for once.”

No one asks him to continue, so he does anyway:

“Ocean.”

Silence. Hesitation paints their faces, flickering between concern, barely concealed anger, frustration or grief. Hands twitch. Faces crease. And before they inevitably turn on one another like a pack of restrained dogs, the female voice of the Meta-Nav rings out.

“Conditions have been met. Beginning navigation.”

Ryuji looks down to see the ground giving way beneath his feet, crumbling like glass beneath heavy boots. Panic sinks in. Haru glances up momentarily to see the sky shifting, twisting and fading into a dull blue, painted with dying streaks of sunlight.

He opens his eyes to be greeted with-

* * *

 

-Stinging, pain in the back of his lungs and in his nostrils, flaring, taking him a few seconds to realise he can’t _breathe_ \- it hurts to try, it’s hard to try, it’s-

Something wraps around his ankle and drags him into the air. Ryuji coughs- lands on his back with a steady _thud._ He staggers to his feet- he’s still wearing sneakers-

“Oh, my…” Yusuke’s voice rings out, filled with quiet shock that echoes through them all. He stands up. And his jaw drops.

Towering crystal pillars, laced with silver wiring and the black speckled shells of small barnacles, crumbling at both top and base, surrounding what appears to be the ruins of a castle or a temple. At the highest point of each pillar, a dull light gleams and pulses; from the point, barriers form to effectively create breathable spaces between each pillar. Beyond the domes swim the glistening colours of fish and sea creatures that he’s only ever seen inside picture books.

Morgana breathes in.

“...Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know if this is the right place to put this, but Akira's Palace in this AU is meant to be a direct opposite of Shido's one- while Shido follows a delusional ideal that he can keep his world 'afloat' through hand picking certain people to board his ark, this version of Akira is sunken.


	3. the first boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing feels the same anymore.

* * *

 

It takes them a few moments to realise that they’re still in their ordinary clothes; school uniforms. The fact that this Palace, the home and prison of their leader’s darkest fears, doesn’t recognise them as an enemy is… both comforting and unnerving, Ann decides. It’s contradicted by her own self guilt; if they aren’t his enemy, then what _are_ they?

The thought sits silently for a while, passed back and forth inside the intricacies of who they are as people and how their situations overlap.

She loses track of how long they stand there, lost in the confusion of it all- Yusuke hyper focused on the aquatic life, mimicking their movements with each curl of a cheap, portable paintbrush that Akira had given him at one point. Ann doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She doesn’t know anything anymore.

Haru says exactly what she’s thinking, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “It’s like the whole world’s been turned on its head.”

“We-” Morgana starts, “we can’t just sit around. C’mon, let’s get going.”

They shrug off earlier misgivings, exchanging glances before following the damaged fragments of barrels trapped in the sand and the occasional stone in their pathway, from one air bubble to the next. In the distance, under the stiff lines of pillars, she catches sight of foggy green; the haze that reminds Ann vaguely of that creepy shop that Akira visited on Central street, the one in the back alley.

Overhead, the sea life changes into a flickering domed ceiling. In the upward dimness, varied cracks expose a gentle downpour of water, rather than the imminent flood that would have been expected. Their path branches off into a wide room, separated and splitting into seven walkways, each on a different wall in some bizarre architecture that Ann- nor Morgana, who knew most of the Metaverse- could recognise.

The door directly facing them is a thick pane of metal, leashed to the ground with heavy chains, each ending with slots shaped as anchors. In varying colours and illuminations, the other doors had no locks but in turn betrayed no clue of where they led.

“...Think it would be best to split up?” Ann finally says, glancing around.

Makoto opens her mouth as if to protest.

“Doesn't appear to be many Shadows around- only weaklings, maybe two to three at the end of each path.” A few moments of silence pass, followed by another cough from Futaba. “It'd be faster, too.”

“How long are the pathways, Oracle?” Yusu- Fox inquires, glancing down the blue lit walkway.

Something sets Ann’s hair on edge. “W-We shouldn't be splitting up!”

She gets overridden by a reluctant sigh from Queen, the latter tapping her chin.

“If we're not seen as threats just yet… it'll be quick, hopefully. Best we pair up in terms of ability. We can get three done at a time if we work in groups of two.”

It's hard to protest against the resolve, against their effortless division. Makoto continues. “Haru, you're with me. Ann, Yusuke, you're taking the pink one. Ryuji, Morgana, on red.”

Yusuke’s gloved hand rests on the hilt of his sword, nodding in response. Around them, arguments begin to pile up.

“Bullshit-!”

“But Haru-”

“Listen to me!”

Something clicks in the room as Makoto’s voice reverbs, matched by the whirr of wheels on the damaged floor. A heavy sigh follows. “...We do what needs to be done. No more fighting. Just- do as I tell you.”

Something doesn't sit right, but she's got enough common sense not to argue.

* * *

 


	4. the path of wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chariot. Magician. The red road.

Above red lights flicker, vaguely reminding Ryuji of Shinjuku- meeting Mishima at ridiculously late hours, that weird lady at the table on the side of the road, the general skeeviness of it all. Morgana is uncannily silent, edging a few steps in front of him to peer around a corner. It sinks in slowly, the unease; the gradual recognition of the walls around him.

No wonder it reminds him of Shinjuku- it _is_ Shinjuku.

Or, at least, some unnatural rip-off of it. The roof curls unpleasantly overhead, like it's moving, matched by foggy globes hanging off black, metal hooks. At some point during their investigation, the floor starts to shift, curving in the trackwork of Mementos with less shadows and more concrete tilework. Straining an ear, Ryugi begins to hear voices inside the walls. Whispers.

“Oi, cat, do you-”

“I’m done with you.” A deep, gravel-laced tone rings out (it’s familiar), seemingly from above his head. He yelps, whirls around to see-

A wall. Right behind him.

“What the fuck?!” Morgana’s head turns, pawing his mouth before his jaw drops. “The- what’d you do, Skull?!”

“I-I didn’t do anything, you stupid cat!” He gapes at the wall for a few seconds, trying to coincide the image of the hallway with the neon signage of _Crossroads_ , lacking the stairs descending to a door. A black splotch sits a little under the ‘a’, like an oil or a blood stain.

Pressing a paw to the wall, Morgana feels for loose bricks- “it's a trick _all_ Phantom Thieves should know, y’know”- but finds no purchase.

Nothing. Morgana sighs. “You-” Ryuji glares at him, “ _we_ must have tripped a switch somewhere.”

“For real?”

“Mh-hm.” He leaps back onto Ryuji’s head. “We should keep moving, we might be able to find a switch or control panel.”

The street seems longer than it did last time, gradually breaking off into a series of roads. Walls shift into street signs, closed hardware stores and posters. They pass a bookstore, a bank- it begins to warp into an amalgamation of Central Street, Station Square, the overhead ceiling of the underground mall…

He swallows. A Shadow strolls past him- the shadow of a pale woman, looking down intently at her phone as she walks into and subsequently merges with a portly man who holds a briefcase in his left hand, weaving together like the line of a fishing rod as it sinks into a pond. As he moves to pass an alleyway, he hears a-

“It’s crazy again this year…” Another Shadow; this one’s face is a little clearer, but it’s covered by the interlacings of a black mask- a masquerade one or something of the like, concealing everything but the most obvious of details. A woman, whose hair seemed to shift between being completely black or golden, hard to tell in the light. Her eyes shift up. She smiles. “Oh, good morning!”

He can’t see the sun.

“Oi.” He glances at Morgana, who shrugs quietly in turn. “Uh… listen, lady. We’re looking for a-”

“An anchor.” Ryuji almost wants to smack that cat. ‘An anchor’, how dumb does that sound?

He coughs. “Yeah. What he said. An anchor.”

The woman opens her mouth in thought and he watches on, stunned, as what appears to be a few droplets of water drips from her fingernails. She shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Morgana shoots him a look.

“C’mon lady, we’re desperate!”

She hesitates, flickering lightly, the soft shifting of cognition as she mulls over an idea. “Are you sure?”

They nod.

Standing, the shadow seems to warp, the table… bleeding into her gloved hands and weaving together in black, silken strands.

“No.”

Her voice twists as rows of silver teeth jut from her jawline and Ryuji- Ryuji finally spots it, the wreave of darkened metal, links connecting to each other. The Anchor draped around the neck of a figure with four separate faces lining the body; two female, pursed lips stained with crimson and purplish splottage, two male, heavily inked in an interweaving of unpleasant burgundy lines.

The ground similarly shifts.

“Refill?” She- him- _they_ ask in a deceiving monotone.

“I- what-?”

A clawed hand is knocked back by a gust of wind, the Shadow having attempted to act on his momentary confusion. Morgana snarls. From the subtle darkness overcast, Ryuji catches sight of the straightened blade belonging to Zorro.

He _knows_ that voice.

There’s no time to think it over.

The distortion of the world shifts. He becomes aware of the metal plating that now cover his arms, the effortless transition into ‘Skull’. Taking his baton into hand, he snaps his wrist to slam the curve into the creatures left arm.

It sinks in, revealing the consistency to be like thick, thick glue rather than skin. Ryuji hisses, rapidly firing a burst of electricity from Kidd to prevent the ever-reaching grip of it’s free limb. The faces twist. Curl. Their eyes burst open to expose fierce gold.

“I’m gonna knock you out!” It’s voice- the words that reverb-

His arms move on instinct to shield his face from the sudden tremor, a blast of psychokinetic energy unstabilizing the thoughts in his mind. “This thing, it’s-”

Another blast before he can react. Two more arms rip from it’s shoulders. The distortion grows thicker. Thunder doesn’t have an effect; his fingers reach for his shotgun, firing a single- a double shot into the bloodshot eyes that sit sunken in the space above cracked teeth.

A scream rips from it’s lungs.

Falling flat on it’s ass, Ryuji breathes in as the creature shrieks, tearing it’s face apart as it searches, desperately, for the bullets now lodged inside. “What the-”

“This thing- i-it’s not a shadow.” Morgana stammers.

“I told you, I’m human!” Another voice, echoing from the bloodied lips.

It lurches forward as if to heave, claws seizing hold of Mona’s tail and flinging him far enough that Ryuji hears the cracking of a wall, followed by the sound of water rushing down to lap at his feet.

* * *

“Sojiro-san…” Akira asks, looking over the black and ivory circles in his coffee cup, his phone left unlocked on the countertop. He takes a sip. “Sojiro-san, do you know where everyone is?”

“Haven’t seen Futaba all day.” Sojiro responds over the steam that lifts from the mug. Looking up, peering over the lifeless LeBlanc from behind his spectacles, he sighs. “It’s going to get busy soon. You should head off so you don’t disrupt my customers.”

‘And go where?’ He thinks. ‘Do what?’

“Of course. Thank you for the coffee.”

And as he pops open the door, he flicks his phone on to see-

No new messages.

* * *

Before the shadow- cognition- can act again, Ryuji sinks one more, then a second bullet into it’s throat, tendrils flailing as it falls to it’s knees, mumbling, wailing. He breathes in.

“I nearly smacked him when he was talkin’ about my dad…” It whispers. In his voice- his own, pre-recorded, and effortless words. A quiet giggle that breaks, slowly, into a sob. “But y’know… you actually helped me calm down a little.”

“I’m glad you were here with me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

A third bullet, straight through the skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Sorry for the late update :<. My update time will be pretty sporadic, as I'll only be able to write when I'm not busy/when I have the motivation. I hope you enjoy this double update, though!


	5. the path of envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplate, sitting in jealousy. Wonder where the betrayal started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the late update :<< With Christmas holidays coming up, I should be able to start posting regularly. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

The whole situation echoes vaguely of Sae.

A game, rules determined by an outside force, the Host of the table changing the scenario on whims. Betrayal of the mind against logic. Not that she’s been one to talk; Makoto knows herself. She knows her own irrationality, has seen the worst of her impulsive tendencies first hand and has been rescued from them by her teammates, by her friends, and by, most of all, Joker himself.

[Joker, the trump card of a pack of fifty two- finds it fitting that, it’s this card that’s turned the game against her.]

Makoto glances over to Haru out of the corner of her eye, her senior’s face painted in the sea green of the lights up ahead. No mask, no trace of the eponymous Noir, no trace of treachery, only concern.

“Are you okay, Mako-chan…?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she focuses her attention to the walls, where lights flicker and dance as if in a faerie-type of pattern, moving in irregular beats and spiralling faster, faster together. As they continue onwards, carefully navigating the watery steps, the lights give way to stained glass, circled by mossy stone bricks.

* * *

The anchor is suitably heavy in his hand. Barnacles lace in between one another around the top, with short black spikes protruding from the bottom. Crudely carved into the central bar, words;

_Wrath_ which interlaces like the flow of water into _Greed._

When Ryuji takes it into his hand, the sharp edges dig into his gloves. He hisses, pulls back to show the red that drips down his fingers. “Not makin’ it easy, leader. Not… makin’ it easy.” Wiping the blood off on his scarf, he examines it from all corners.

At the top, a single black button which Morgana presses down. The spikes withdraw inwards, though he notes, with no end of it’s weight. If anything, it feels heavier, the pain replaced by it.

The feline lacks the usual gleam of gold in his eyes, replaced with a dullness. “It’s not valuable at all.”

_Greed._

“Ey, Mona. What do you think of all- well, all of this?” He hates the negativity that creeps into his mind. He hates the distrust. He hates of where his thoughts leap to in the instance that he’d heard his own words echoed from between the Shadow’s teeth.

Black ears droop. “I… I don’t know. I don’t want to think it’s what I think it is, but…”

The conversation sours, then cuts.

“C’mon, Skull.” He hadn’t realised how tight his grip had been; the points of the anchor leave marks in his hands. With a movement, he hurls it over his shoulder as Morgana motions them back up the stairs.

“We haven't seen Joker’s cognition of us, yet.” Ryuji says, shooting his eyes to the destroyed fortune tellers booth.

“Not now, Skull.”

“I’m just saying-!”

Before he can scream insecurities to the air, the light flickers out. His gaze strains against the dark and makes out a silhouette clad entirely in black.

* * *

The coffee shop is lonely at this time of day. Three and a half hours until close, two customers sitting behind him, the elderly married couple who talk quietly between each other and rest wrinkled hands over the top of a single ring on a pair of ring fingers.

He debates calling Kawakami. Contemplates the time. Briefly, he even considers taking another trip around Tokyo to see if he can catch a glance; Ann in the underground mall, Ryuji at the arcade, Makoto outside the front of the school. Futaba sitting on the grass near the entrance to LeBlanc. Yusuke at the station, Haru in the gardens.

Akira glances up at the screen. Hopes to see a familiar face set with red eyes, but then realises that Akechi probably doesn’t want to see him either.

* * *

 

“Ah… this looks like Kanda.” Haru murmurs and Makoto is inclined to agree- the towering pillars, wrapped with ocean life and seaweed in place of the holy symbols of the church, the gentle sunlight replaced with a deep, deep blue. “Have you ever been here, Mako-chan?”

She has. Ages ago, in the aftermath of her father’s death and a little more recently with the arrest of Kaneshiro.

It feels wrong to mention either incident, so she finds herself leaving the question with, “I have.”

The pews have algae growing on the edges and for a split second, she feels the moment of smallness; like a small fish swimming lonely inside an empty tank, with dark eyes peering in and tapping upon the glass. Helpless. Makoto holds back a shudder and she forces her legs to keep moving.

Haru coughs. “Um… I wanted to ask you something, actually. While we have the time.” Makoto motions for her to go on and she breathes in. “Why did you stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d thought you would’ve left after… well, it must be hard to balance Student President duties with being Queen.” Her eyes are clear. “Why did you choose to stay as both and not one, nor the other?”

For a moment, she considers not answering. Silence is golden, and all that- but silence and a refusal to speak is what created this problem in the first place. “My sister would’ve been disappointed if I just quit, but at the time time,” Makoto pauses, “at the same time, I needed to be more than just a face of injustice. I had to help and I had to help through more than just Mementos.”

“By being in the public eye..” Haru nods. “I see. Thank you.”

Against the far wall, she sees the familiar confessions booth, along with the altar table… lined with bottles. Makoto steps closer and stares them down. The large neck of cheap whiskey, lid missing and with amber liquid spilled over the top of several white tablets and a single yearbook with all of the photos cut out.

“I’d thought about ending it all, y’know.” They whirl around at the voice- Makoto seizes the book, she doesn’t know _why-_ and at the doorway, stands a familiar face-

“Mishima?” Haru blinks.

He’s dressed in the sports uniform of Shujin Academy, the red and white bringing out the purple colour splotched around his left eye and the limp in his knees as he approaches. A small smile, void of feeling.

She finds herself stepping back as the distortion strengthens, his face bleeds in and out of itself; she catches sight of the politician who declares speeches in the later hours of the day, twitching into the Shogi player princess and, for the shortest of seconds, Sae.

“I was so close to giving up.” Their voices similarly echo. A tremble, a kindness, a whisper and anger so barely concealed. “So close to just-” Their hand flings out, seizes the bottle. Crushes it between pale fingers.

“Ending it all.”

The glass cracks. Makoto feels metal form on the bridge of her nose, leather and steel taking shape on skin and she sees Noir from the corner of her eye.

Before her eyes, the faces blend together like paint splattered together with no brush; unevenly, with layers unstirred and a general displacency in colour. A cross where it’s neck was supposed to be, covered by a hand clawing at the chin. Pale limbs, stretched and bound across one another. Eyes on every fragment of flesh exposed. And an anchor held tightly between long, jagged teeth.


End file.
